


Five Cases of Mistaken Identity + That One Moment Of Being Absolutely, Undeniably Seen

by joufancyhuh



Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Canon Divergent, Disabled Ryder, Everyone is bi and I regret nothing, F/M, Family Problems, Identical twin sisters, Mistaken Identity, NonPathfinder Ryder, Past Relationship Bain/Reyes, Present Tense, Snarky Ryder, Spec Recs 2020, The Story of Bain and Zaeed Meeting, five times fic, trapped together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23123338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joufancyhuh/pseuds/joufancyhuh
Summary: It’s only after the aliens shoot her ship out of the sky that Krys considers the idea that maybe, just maybe, stealing a transport and hightailing it to the closest planet in this new galaxy might not have been her best escape plan.Krys Ryder wakes up in a new galaxy and finds out that her sister lied to her about everything. So she does what she does best, and runs. And she meets Bain, who is equal parts frustrating and handsome. But some problems require a more hands-on solution. In the meantime, she has trouble determining if people mistaking her as the Pathfinder is a blessing or a curse.
Relationships: Bain Massani/Female Ryder | Sara, Female Ryder & Female Ryder
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13
Collections: Spectre Requisitions 2020





	1. -One-

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sumi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sumi/gifts).



> Special thanks to Kynlei for betaing, for Inquartata30 for helping me with the title, and to Foofyschmoofer for characterization betaing.

It’s only after the aliens shoot her ship out of the sky that Krys considers the idea that maybe, just maybe, stealing a transport and hightailing it to the closest planet in this new galaxy might not have been her best escape plan. 

The ship heads straight toward sand-crusted mountains of orange. In those few perilous seconds where the bad choices she made that brought her to this moment flash before her eyes, she braces for impact, raising her arms up to cover her unhelmeted head. _What a way to go_ , she thinks. _Such a disappointing act of rebellion_. 

Metal crumbles like tinfoil and shards of glass explode throughout the cockpit of the small ship as she feels the sting of a thousand cuts across her poorly-clothed body -- she hid armor in a trunk towards the back, also stolen, and planned to don it after landing. 

A sour smell fills the air, the taste of copper swishing in her mouth, and there’s a heaviness pinning her legs that prevents her weak attempts at crawling forward once the ship lands in a heap. Wind blows in sand that sticks to the blood, and the heated air that pours through the broken windshield is nearly unbearable, making each inhale that much harder to take. Outside, guns fire and there’s more crashing and maybe she blacked out, she doesn’t know for certain, but the next thing she hears is the heavy steps of boots approaching her position. 

The pistol she kept in the cockpit with her is nowhere to be seen among the debris, but she reaches out blindly for it anyway, hoping for some luck -- it appears that luck stayed behind on the Nexus, because she finds nothing more than a large shard of glass, which she picks up despite how it cuts into her palm, and holds it above her head to swing at the hostile approaching. The shard grows slick with her blood the longer she holds onto it, and she struggles to keep it upright, her vision falling out of focus with a creeping blackness eating away at the edges. 

Someone or something ducks into the ship, two large black boots -- she can’t move her head, though she manages to swipe at them when they approach. “Easy now, Little Duck,” an accented male voice coaxes, and the figure squats down close to her right before she falls into the black.

When she wakes, it’s on a cot inside of a ship -- she hears the gentle thrum of the engine before opening her eyes. And that voice again, talking with no response in the distance, too far away to make out the words but she recognizes the timbre from before she passed out. Cautiously, she tests her limbs to check for restraints but finds none, and more importantly, a lack of outright pain. 

Her arms feel stiff, as do her legs, and when she looks at her hand that held the glass, she finds a sizable scar there, but otherwise no damage. She rises with little difficulty and swings her feet over the side of the cot while surveying her surroundings. 

A small room, complete with a sink and toilet, and shelves lined with guns, all types she’s never laid eyes on before. Some new Andromeda model perhaps? This person, whoever he is, must be either stupid or very trusting to leave her, a complete stranger, in a room this loaded with weapons. Since he may have saved her life, she would prefer to withhold judgment until she receives a more formal introduction. 

Gripping the sides of the cot, she struggles to her feet, but agony shoots through her left leg like electricity and she lets out a cry before landing hard on her ass, the cot squeaking as it catches her. So maybe the damage from the crash is more extensive than she originally thought. 

The voice in the other room stops, and it isn’t long before the sound of boots echoes outside. And then the door whooshes open and he’s there, her rescuer, who stares at her with black eyes and a frown on his face. 

As far as saviors go, he’s on the handsome side: well-kept facial hair, chiseled jaw, and a bald head with warm undertones to his dark skin -- his armor that might as well be an exoskeleton for how it hugs his muscled body and she can’t help but notice that his lips are made for kissing. He might just be the first good thing to happen to her since arriving in this shitshow of a galaxy, and she offers a sweet smile and flutters her eyelashes and considers that maybe not all her luck got left behind. 

If he notices her subtle flirting, he ignores it, electing to stand sentry by the open door. “Flying right into kett territory with a stolen ship and no crew …” If there’s an end to his sentence, it fades away as he instead chews over his words while the intensity of his staring increases. “I traced the ship to the Nexus, but a contact assured me that the Tempest is on Kadara … as is the Pathfinder.”

 _Ah_. A light goes off in her head. “You know Kori. Well, that explains why you bothered helping me.” And why he left her with his weapons. Trusting, not stupid. Maybe not that trusting anymore though, now that he figured out she isn’t her identical twin sister. “I heard you talking out there. Did you radio her, tell her where I am?” 

His eyes linger before he gives a small shake of the head. “Is that what you want me to do?”

 _Not in the slightest_ . She ran away from the Nexus to escape her lying, conniving sister, and to have her sister come collect her because she hurt herself after such a short time on her own would only rub salt in that wound. “I think it’s better if no one knows where I am, including the _Pathfinder_.” She sneers at the last word, she can’t help herself, but shame washes over her and her attention falls to the floor as her cheeks darken with heat. 

“That’s your business.” When her eyes rise back up to meet his, she finds a hint of curiosity in his gaze, though he speaks nothing to it. “You can stay until you can walk again, then I want you off my ship. I’m not in the habit of adopting strays.” 

“I didn’t come all this way to see the inside of your ship, no offense.” This raises the question of why leave the safety of the Nexus at all, but that’s none of his business, and to his credit, he doesn’t ask. 

Instead, he gives a grunt of approval and heads back out. It takes her a week to learn that his name is Bain. 


	2. -Two-

Krys wipes the blood from her newly busted lip on the shoulder of her armor and grins up at her assailant. “That the best you got?” 

The human throws her a glare that rivals the sun, two of his goons holding back her arms and applying pressure to her ankles with their feet. Her leg never did heal properly after the crash, which gives her even less of a chance at getting out of this alive.

“I told you I would get my revenge, Pathfinder.” 

She throws her head back and lets out a hollow laugh, which earns her another punch, this time in the gut. It breaks off the laughter with a groan as she doubles over, her hair a curtain from this asshole until one of the goons grabs herself a fistful and jerks Krys’ head back. 

“You should’ve known better than to return to Eos alone.” The leader waves a hand and the goons yank her to her feet. “Throw her in with that other one. We can decide what to do with them later.” 

She resists, half-dragged toward the rear of the building since she can’t keep up with their march. Leave it to her sister to leave a trail of trouble behind her only to have Krys falling into it -- a brand new galaxy and nothing changes. 

“Should we cuff her?” The taller of the goons inquires to the other while they hesitate outside a door with a glowing red circle in the middle. 

“It’s not like she can go anywhere,” the other replies, but the first doesn’t appear convinced. 

She inclines her head toward the door, then back to Krys. “Yeah, but that other one …”

“Just leave it.” Without waiting to argue his point further, the door opens and he shoves Krys inside, fast enough for her to fall onto her knees. 

It takes a few minutes for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, to realize that they locked her inside of a storage closet and that the towering shadows are only crates. When she awkwardly stands by dragging herself up on one of those crates -- the fall reactivated the pain in her left leg, and it flares at any semblance of pressure -- she realizes they’re all empty. 

A shuffling behind some of the crates steals her attention. The goons did mention another, and she grabs onto the crate frame to steady herself but also in preparation to use it as a shield should an attack follow. “Who’s there?” Her voice wears all the bravado, her leg nearly shaking from exertion. 

“Figures it’d be you, Chickadee.”

“Massani,” she says, his name a soft exhale in the dark. Months passed since she last saw him, no communication or sightings since he dropped her a short distance from Prodromos. She always kept an eye out, hoping to run into him again. Never imagined it’d be like this, though. “Tough son of a bitch you are, how’d they manage to get you in here?”

“Ambush,” the disembodied voice responds. “Grounded my ship to take out a nest when Gagnon and his bastards swooped in from behind. Claimed all my shit for himself.” Anger seethes in the words, and she pictures his face, teeth clenched and eyebrows furrowed, one of those rare moments that cracks his otherwise nonchalant demeanor. 

Careful, she maneuvers her way behind the crates, sliding her leg along and using the stacks to hold a majority of her weight. When she finds him sitting against the back wall, she half-collapses beside him, unable to keep the self-satisfied smile from her face. Light from his cuffs glow a faint blue that fails to hide her expression, and he lets out a scoff. 

“I seem to recall,” she starts, her smile and arrogance only growing in size, “a certain conversation where you labeled me a liability.”

“You’re here, too,” he gruffs, though his gaze, usually so steady and level, avoids her face. 

“Maybe I heard you were in trouble and came here to rescue you.”

“Some fucking rescue.” 

Orange light from her omni-tool stings her retinas as she brings it up, and Bain recoils from the suddenness. “Fucking warn me next time,” he growls, his face buried in the crook of his elbow. 

She ignores him as she types in a few keys. With the dampener she installed before leaving the Nexus to block out SAM, her omni-tool only works at half capacity. Lockpicking small things, such as cuffs, should still work in theory. Scooting in close enough to feel the breeze of his breath on her cheek, she holds out her ‘tool toward his cuffs until the sync clicks, then returns to a safe distance to work on it.

Kori always relied too heavily on technology, on SAM to do even the simplest task for her, but Krys prefers to work on problems the old-fashioned way; it pays off when the light on his cuffs shifts to green and pops open. 

Bain rubs at his wrists before their gaze connects over the ‘tool, his eyes reflecting only the orange glow. With another wordless grunt, he rises to his feet, a bit unsteady after sitting for so long.

“ _ Thank you, Krys. You’re so smart and beautiful and kind. I’m unworthy to even bask in your presence. _ ” Her head rocks side to side as she imitates his deep voice and not-quite-British accent. The lines in his forehead deepen with his frown, not sharing in her amusement as he stares down at her. 

“You’re not funny,” he says before sticking out a hand in her direction. She clasps it, using him to hoist herself to her feet. Observant guy he is, he notices how her weight shifts to her right, her left foot barely kissing the ground. “Leg still giving you problems?”

“Says the guy who laughs at his own jokes.” She drops his hand the instant she realizes she’s still clinging to it, the darkness hiding the heat of her embarrassment. 

She skips answering the question about her wellbeing, the temptation to turn that into a biting remark too much to resist. He ditched her in the desert, and yes it was amicable at the time, but having him here and pretending or even actually caring about her --  _ which is worse? _ \-- brings forth a grudge she didn’t realize she carried. “So what was your plan? To sit and wait and hopefully, if you’re on your best behavior, they’ll let you out?”

“I have a few ideas.” 

“Feel free to share with the class.” The crate creaks with her weight as she leans against it, hands perching on the corners. The top comes off easy enough, and she quirks an eyebrow in his direction, forgetting he can’t read her face. “What about this?” The lid gets pushed in his direction, and he takes it from her, but not before the calloused tips of his fingers brush her knuckles, a shiver rippling across her skin. 

“You’re smarter than you look, Chickadee.” 

Her lips pinch together and when she picks up a new lid, she jostles it against his. “Asshole,” she hisses, the lack of light adding extra malevolence to her tone. “You never did see my worth.” 

“What, limping around my ship and eating all my food?” 

“What about all those times I provided cover fire? Or when I fixed that clanking up in Ol’ Girl’s engine?” Her makeshift shield knocks into his again, and this time he resists, his own pushing against hers. 

“I told you before, I don’t take in strays.” 

Every damn time, as if he sees right through her -- she hadn’t realized the breath she held was for an invitation back onto the ship until he says those words. With that, she leans away and hobbles toward the door, the thinnest sliver of light streaming from under it. “I’m not looking to be some pet you keep locked up on your ship,” her voice falls into a whisper as if their captors stood listening on the other side. 

“Then what is it you want?” And it’s sincere and honest and she hates that he asks it, because she’s pondered her answer since getting marooned on this forsaken planet. Her pulse thrums a hard beat in her veins and her leg aches with overuse and her teeth catch her upper lip as her internal debate restarts. 

Why leave the safety of the Nexus for the unknown? Why not call for a pickup once the crash happened? What does she hope to find in Eos? 

But she and Bain have an understanding to not discuss such things, so she mutters, “It’d be nice to stop sleeping in caves, for one. And to have backup, for another.” She doesn’t draw attention to how he’s the only person she really knows since waking up in this galaxy -- outside of her sister -- or how the two of them could almost be friends if she didn’t think Bain would shoot down that idea faster than a rabid varren. 

“Then stop acting like an exile and go back to the Nexus,” he responds, the tenor of his voice matching the low tone of hers. 

“I’ll pass on that suggestion, if it’s all the same to you.” The invitation doesn’t fill the silence that expands the gap between them, and when she tires of staring at an unreadable shadow, she turns and raises the metal lid to shield the upper half of her body. “One of us can stand by the door and take them by surprise. I’m still waffling on how to get them to open the door, if anyone is even posted up.” 

Bain lingers behind her and she’s trying hard not to wonder what’s running through his head when a hand settles on her hip, nearly scaring her out of her skin. He must feel the jump, because he mutters an apology right next to her ear, and it’s sending every type of warning bell as to why joining his ship might be a bad idea. Half pressed against her, he lingers, his breath a quiet background to the rapid thundering in her chest. 

“I’m leaving Eos,” he mutters before sliding past her. 

Her hand darts out on its own accord and grabs blindly for him, landing on the back of his armor, where she yanks hard enough on his utility belt to hold him near. “Fuck, are you seriously going to make me beg?” Her voice comes out raw, more like a whine that erases some of the maturity she feigns. 

“What is it you want?” He asks again with the same amount of sincerity, and her grip releases to run a hand through her shaggy hair. And this is one of the most infuriating things about him, that he pretends to not know or that he forces her to speak out loud when she’s so used to having people guess and anticipate her wants and needs. To lend her voice wounds her pride, makes her feel small and younger than she already is. 

“Take me with you,” she says and it comes out like a whisper, and it’s so close to the truth but not quite there, she doesn’t admit her fear of loneliness and how it only grows the longer she’s in Andromeda, or how meeting him abated that for the short time she stayed on his ship. 

The sound of him licking his lips fills the space of an answer before he leans in close to her face. “Now, was that so fucking hard?” 


	3. -Three-

“Two scotches. Rocks if you got ‘em.” Krys holds up two fingers to reiterate. The nameless krogan behind the bar nods then places two glasses on the counter, giving them both a generous pour sans ice. When Krys raises her omni-tool to pay, the bartender waves his hand. 

“On the house, Pathfinder.” 

“Thanks.” When she spins to hand Bain’s glass off to him, she gives him a wide smile. “I guess there are some advantages to looking like this after all.” 

The bar, settled in New Tuchanka, rings out with only the sounds of jostling and footsteps, far too quiet for a krogan establishment. After Bain rolls his eyes and takes a sip of the free alcohol without any show of gratitude, she tilts her head in the direction of outside. 

“Let’s get out of here.” 

His gaze slides off to the side as his hand finds purchase on her lower back, assisting in guiding her forward. “Time to fly then, Chickadee.” When they step out of the caverns, he whirls on her, crowding her against the railing. “You lack all subtlety.” 

“One of my many charms.” Awkwardly, her arm extends over his to take a sip of her drink. Despite the shade, sweat beads along her brow that she’s quick to wipe off. “I don’t see what the big deal is. It’s not like I straight up told him I’m Kori. He just assumed.” 

This earns her another eye roll, and he leans in closer as some krogan pass them by -- Bain’s armor clanks against hers with the rail digging into her backside. One of the krogan lets out a hardy laugh as his eyes meet hers, which brings a ferocious blush to her cheeks as it dawns on her what this might look like. 

Bain’s voice rumbles low in her ear, “Your sister has a reputation to uphold, one that involves paying some fucking respect to Morda. You’re going to start an incident-”

“Then I’ll go fucking lick this person’s boots for her. I don’t see what the problem is.” Her hiss, when she half-turns her head, brings her mouth awfully close to his, but neither moves away. “Why do you care all of a sudden?”

“Because,  _ Little Duck _ , you’re supposed to be on Voeld right now.”

“Cute, your newfound obsession with my sister.”

“I’m trying to keep her from dragging you back to the Nexus.” And then he takes a step away with an aggravated sigh, the scotch in his glass drained in a matter of seconds. “You’re a fucking nightmare to deal with.”

That manages to shut her up, though she pretends to drink in order to keep from saying something stupid and regrettable. She confessed one night about that particular fear of hers when she thought he wasn’t listening, but he proved her wrong. Not that Krys would leave without a fight, one that began 600 years ago in the Milky Way. 

“Yeah, well … thanks for that, I guess.” She tips him a smile before climbing on the railing. It’s a terrifyingly long way down, and she sways a little before turning her back to it to balance her ass on the top. “Though, to be fair, you’re giving off some strong stalker vibes.” 

Bain sets his empty glass on the ground close to the wall and moves to stand by her knees, though she reads no fear at the danger behind her. When he says nothing, she ribs him harder. “Or is that part of your  _ aesthetic _ ?” 

“That’s not how it works,” he states, so matter of fact, before stealing her glass and finishing it off himself. It ends up by his boots and then he parts her legs to wedge his hips between them, her knees now on either side. 

Blaming the close proximity on concern for her not dropping to the bottom of the ravine, she rakes her teeth against her upper lip and stares past him into the cave. The two krogan who walked past them end up in a shouting match, and the sound of it echoes out to where they stand. Something about a thresher maw, from every other word she hears. 

When her gaze returns to Bain’s face, he’s studying her without saying anything, a callous softness that makes his dark eyes sparkle with the flecks of amber only seen on rare occasions. And she considers kissing him, not for the first time -- just bridging the small distance and pressing her lips against his, wrapping her arms around his neck to keep him close and her from falling. When a gentle breeze blows, the smell of his moisturizer -- sage, clove, and the smallest hint of nutmeg -- hits her nose and increases her longing tenfold. And she could blame the alcohol, though they both know it takes more than that to get her tipsy. 

But the fighting grows louder, a major buzzkill, and her hands remain gripping the railing as her shoulders sag. “What about your family? I’m sure you’re tired of hearing me complain about mine.” 

His eyes flicker with brief confusion before solidifying back into his cool, unaffected demeanor. “There’s nothing to tell. My mother died when I was young. My father, he gave me his last name on his way out the door.” 

“You never thought about finding him?” 

He scoots away, out of her grasp, and stoops to pick up her glass. “Another round?”

“You’re deflecting,” she teases, but it falls short when he straightens. 

“If you’re so set on discussing this, I need more to drink.” When she starts to jump down, he holds up the hand not containing a glass. “Wait here.” 

She begins to protest about how she can score them more free drinks, but considering how he reprimanded her, the sound only dies back down in her throat -- he swoops down to pick up the other glass then heads inside without another glance, leaving her alone to yell at herself for not kissing him. Why the hesitation? Did she think he really wouldn’t reciprocate the kiss?

Her last kiss was with her on-and-off girlfriend in the Milky Way the night before the Hyperion took flight. She showed up outside the hotel room unprompted, one single kiss before their relationship ended with a  _ permanently-off  _ \-- Kori still in the room, offering to leave them alone and go stay with Alec. 

Allison, Allison Kane, Krys repeated that name like a mantra as cryo-sleep took over -- asked if it was because of her, why Krys signed on to something so dangerous. And Allie was crying, snot and tears running down her face that she kept wiping on her jacket sleeve, and Kori had the tv up way too damn loud while the news was running a report on the anniversary of some dead Commander -- and Krys never gave an answer. 

Because going to Andromeda hadn’t been a choice. 

Bain returns with the scotch, and she drinks too much too fast, which turns into a coughing fit and Bain assisting her in keeping balance by securing an arm around her waist as he stands off to the side, his back to oblivion and the glass on his lips. 

He finished the glass before speaking again, picking up the conversation from where they left off. “I did private security in the Milky Way. And my dad, he was some big-time merc … Weird to think that he’s dead now. 

“If you saw him, you’d think he was fucking half-dead already. Tough son-of-a-bitch. Never did know how to fucking die.”

She knows that feeling from discovering Alec died, even though Kori wove stories about how he was out Pathfinding when they talked through SAM in the coma. Before Krys can decide on the words to comfort him, he continues on and her mouth quickly reseals. 

“I have this client, not the most savory character, but most of our clients weren’t, -- headed to Omega to do business. Hires my company to protect him.

“The shooting starts before we even fucking land, but my team manages to get him inside -- start to head down the hall and I look up, and there he is. My father. I recognized him from the pictures my mom had.

“But of course, he doesn’t know me, and he fucking charges and I still have a job to do, to protect this bastard client. Even if that means killing my own father. But no one but me knows who he is, knows what he can do. 

“He never did a fucking thing for me, but I’m still struggling with the fact that he’s just fucking there and shooting at me, and  _ fuck _ , he’s good, better than any reports led me to expect. And I can hear him cursing from the doorway he’s crouched in.

“I keep asking myself, am I really going to shoot my old man? Like nothing personal, but I’m getting paid to do a fucking job, and so is he, he should at least know who he’s up against. By now, the client’s already moved on, one of the other guys got him to safety, and I’m just here, defending the line. So I open my mouth to shout at him, and this motherfucker actually barrels up the hall.

“So naturally, I had to fucking shoot him.

“One shot, right in the calf, and it should slow him down but this fucking guy can’t take a hint. Cause he’s still headed my way. So this time, I hit him in the other leg and when that doesn’t fucking work, I tell him I’m his son.

“You know what this son-of-a-bitch says? Not even the least bit fucking surprised. He says to me,  _ Yeah, I know. You shoot like your goddamn mother _ . And then he fucking decks me with the butt of his gun. I start to blackout because next thing I know, he’s walking away and telling me,  _ Sorry, kid. I got a job to finish _ .”

When Bain doesn’t continue on, she lets out a low whistle and gives a drawn-out, “Damn. And I thought Alec was bad.” 

But then Bain surprises her by letting out a hearty laugh. “We grabbed a beer after that. I made my old man pay for it.”

She shakes her head, a large smile breaking apart her lips. He has that effect on people, on her specifically -- something about him that makes smiling irresistible. “You’re way too forgiving. If that were me, I would have aimed higher than the legs.” 

Bain’s nonchalant nature takes over because he offers a shrug and nothing else. “I spent a lot of time being angry at him, especially after my mother died. When I realized that the only person it hurt was me, I gave all that up.” 

Wise words, and she recognizes the truth in her own situation with her sister and her own father, but the anger burns too bright, too hot to consider dousing that flame. Instead, she polishes off the last of her glass and hands it to him to place on the ground. When he returns upright, she shifts to the side, angling herself toward him. Her fingers find his utility belt without looking and she hooks them in, using her grip to draw him back between her legs, even closer than before. 

“I don’t know if I’ve ever heard you speak that much,” she grins, her arms changing position to dangle over both shoulders. The line between a fighting partner and something more romantic grows thin, and she teeters on that beam, ready to lose her balance and land on one side or the other. 

But he steals her thunder and the first move, arms secure across her back as he bridges the gap, his mouth finding hers still open in a smile. His lips are surprisingly soft, the kiss firm but still somehow gentle, and she sinks all-too-eagerly into it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is now the only Zaeed and Bain story I'll accept.


	4. -Four-

“Oh, so you’re here to finish me off? Made other allegiances? After all I’ve done for you? _To_ you?” The dark-haired man with a thick Latin accent standing on the upper level of the cave hideaway glares at Bain and Krys while his subordinates aim guns in their direction. With their hands behind their heads, all they can do is stand there, helpless to any incoming attacks. _The one saving grace_ , Krys thinks to herself, _is at least down here, the sulfur smell isn’t so goddamn awful._

“It’s not like that-” Bain starts, but the man, the contact Bain traveled all this way to see, cuts him off. 

“Really, Massani. I expected this from a lot of people, but never you. What did she offer you? A new ship? Weapons? Immunity for returning to the Nexus? What was the offer you couldn’t refuse?” 

Bain opens his mouth again but this time, Krys steps in, shuffling up to where Bain stands and ignoring how the gun-barrels follow her movements. “I’m the other Ryder.”

The man rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “Do you take me for a fool?” 

“She’s telling the truth,” Bain speaks up, his annoyance only growing. “She’s not the Pathfinder.” 

The other man jumps down, then grabs Krys’ chin, forcing her head to turn side to side. “She sure as shit looks like the Pathfinder.” 

“We’re twins, dumbass.” 

“Everyone knows the other one is in a coma.” 

While normally it would be good news to hear that her escape isn’t common knowledge, it only furthers the suspicion in this case. She tosses a glance to Bain for assistance, and he readily steps in. 

“Reyes,” Bain says, and lowers a hand to place on the man’s shoulder. “You’re starting to wear on my patience. Chickadee goes where I go, and you asked me here, not the other way around.” 

Reyes spares a glance to where Bain’s hand rests on him. “You never said you were bringing company.” 

“We don’t need to tell each other everything. _Though_ I would fucking _tell you_ if I brought the person _who shot you_ . Give me _some_ fucking credit, Vidal.” Bain’s hand returns to the top of his head. “We finished? Or do you plan to keep bitching?” 

“I’m considering it,” Reyes says, his eyes dragging between the two of them. When they land back on her, she wrinkles her nose at him. The dislike goes both ways. Why Bain did any sort of business with this shady character is beyond her comprehension. “What’s stopping her from revealing this base to her sister then, if she really is who you think she is?” 

As Bain fights off an exasperated sigh, she answers the question in his place. “Because I’d sooner see my sister dead than speak with her again.” The words burn her tongue as she confesses, too harsh for outside her innermost thoughts. 

But this man nods his head after some consideration and responds, “That makes two of us. Forgive me if I still have my doubts, however.” He waves a hand, and the guns lower. “You can stay, for now. But step out of line, and my people won’t hesitate to shoot.” 

Bain snorts as his hands fall down to his side. “ _Your_ people. I thought you weren’t looking to be a leader.” 

“These things just happen,” he says with a shrug. Tossing a steely glare in Krys’ direction, he gestures toward the stairs. “Shall we conduct our business away from prying ears and possible Pathfinders?” 

“I’m not the Pathfinder,” she mumbles, but it’s lost in the background. 

Bain nods his head, but only after exchanging a reassuring glance. She doesn’t trust this man not to attempt an execution while distracting Bain, and maybe she should’ve stayed with the ship, but it’s too late now, and leaving on her own would only increase mistrust. 

As Reyes directs Bain forward, he places a hand low on Bain’s back. 

She avoids bringing it up until Ol’ Girl is newly packed with food and they’re flying away from Kadara toward Voeld. “So … Reyes …” A grin draws back her lips when Bain catches the mischievous glint in her eyes from the pilot’s chair. 

“Yeah?”

“What does it say about me that you have such obvious bad tastes in partners?” 

He lets out a large laugh, caught with surprise by her question. “You two really don’t like each other.” 

“I don’t trust him.” She slides off her chair and over to where she straddles his lap, her fingers rubbing at the nape of his neck. He relaxes into the touch, angling his head back with a soft exhale out of his nose, a groan locked in his throat. 

“He says the same about you.” When he leans forward for a kiss, she slants her body away, tapping his nose with a fingertip. 

“What’s the story there?”

“Are you jealous?” 

This time, she inclines her head toward his, her nose brushing along his stubbled cheek. “Merely curious.” Not like they discussed exclusivity before, though it surprised her to find he had someone else. But, she supposes, he was awake a year longer than herself. And Bain found her so soon after her own awakening. 

“It’s an on-again, off-again fling.”

“And right now? Is it on?”

“Off.” When he turns his head to kiss her, she giggles and moves away, earning a sharp curse and a playful squeeze of her love-handles. 

“And is that what we are? A fling?” 

His hands tighten where they grip her sides. “Is that all you want this to be?” 

“Are you offering more?”

“Do you want more?”

She curses how he always does this, draws it out to force her into confessions. Her ribcage barely contains her frantically beating heart, scared at asking for anything he isn’t willing to give and this drawing to an end so soon. Why must it be her that always puts her feelings on the line? But if she responds how she wants, that she’ll take anything he’s willing to give, it comes off needy, desperate, no matter if she can think of no way better to describe it. 

Instead, she brings him forward into a kiss, stealing her breath and leaving her speechless and, most importantly, unable to answer his question. 


	5. -Five-

When Krys comes off the stolen shuttle with her hands raised, she spots some hesitation by the Nexus security, a factor she relied on when formatting her plan. A turian steps forward with blue markings, the confusion apparent on his face. “Ryder?” When he pulls up his omni-tool, a list scrolls down his screen. His eyes dart back and forth between Krys, the shuttle, and his ‘tool. Finally, with a sigh, his talons close it. “Damn tech must be faulty again.” Louder to the officers surrounding them, he calls, “Lower your weapons. It’s only the Pathfinder.” 

Krys nods her head, then thinks better of it and offers a polite “Thanks” before heading off toward what she hopes is the Pathfinder suite. Kori would say thank you, that was the kind of thing she did, and Krys is back to pretending, horrible at it as she might be. 

The turian falls in step beside her. “Where’s your ship, Ryder? And your crew?”  _ Ryder _ , she notes. Not  _ Pathfinder _ , suggesting this might actually be someone who knows her sister well. Best to tread carefully then. 

“We got separated. They’re … on the way. We said we’d rendezvous here.”

The turian stares at her as if glaring physical holes shine through her story, but then he gives the turian-equivalent of a smile and nods. “Glad you’re okay, Ryder. How was Voeld?”

If she barks off a  _ Don’t want to talk about it _ , would that be in character? Kori always did her best acting around other people, while Krys prefers the direct approach. Maybe that added to how easy lying came to her sister. But this turian awaits an answer. She shrugs her shoulders and feigns a shiver. “Cold,” she responds with a forced laugh, one that the turian echoes. 

“Better you than me out there, that’s all I can say.” He takes the lead toward a tram, which saves her the embarrassment of searching for it. Inside, he asks where she’s headed. 

“My quarters,” she responds and it’s another save, cause he types something in and off they go. The turian drowns her in small talk, mostly petty crimes around the Nexus and would she mind looking into them if she has the time? But then, what is this guy’s job? If he’s security, why isn’t he doing these jobs himself? But she smiles sweetly and twists her hair around her finger and says of course, even though she has no intention of leaving the room once she’s inside. 

The door opens with some minor lockpicking involving a card she swiped before her initial departure. The room lights turn on with motion, illuminating the room where Alec’s things still sit in worshipful positions. It smells faintly of eezo, the cool scent that clung to Alec after long days in the labs. 

Kori’s fingerprints scatter around the room in discarded coffee mugs across countertops and tables, and clothes tossed over couches and chairs and dumped in a pile on the bed. Books make small towers, in the patented Kori-style organization that made no sense to anyone other than her sister. A single bracelet, made from colorful threads and worn at the woven clasp, sits on the nightstand, the only thing on its surface. They made them together as kids. Krys had one that Kori made her back in the Milky Way, but it ended up destroyed in one of their fights. Would that be the fate of this one as well? 

No doubt by the act of opening the doors, SAM will alert Kori and they’ll be on their merry way. Probably told her who it was as well. All’s left to do is wait. 

She sinks onto a bed that her father never got to use, and buries her face in her hands. Ironic, how Bain and she fought about this very thing, coming here -- what is he doing now without her there to annoy him? Most likely taking out his frustrations on some kett. She should call him --  _ No, leave him on Voeld and focus on the storm ahead _ . 

The fight replays in her head, curses and shouts and some phrases she regrets -- him standing coldly by, arms crossed over his chest as she leaves out Ol’ Girl’s door for the frozen tundra of Voeld. He never came to check on her, the bastard, make sure she didn’t freeze out there. He just got into his damn pilot’s chair and flew off. 

And she stole a ship from the outpost and returned to the Nexus, the one place in Andromeda he wouldn’t be able to follow. If he even wanted to. 

These situations had a bad habit of repeating themselves. Maybe she’s the reason they keep happening. Maybe she’s the problem and not everyone else. 

Her sister’s face flashes through her memories, large on the vidscreen in the hospital section of the Nexus.  _ You said it would be different!  _ Her anger tasting of copper, blood rushing in her ears as she stares up at her sister’s neutral face. _ I came here for you!  _ Not Alec, not to keep the scraps of their disintegrating family together, but because Kori begged her, pleaded for her to come to Andromeda. Promising an escape from their father’s shadow, a fresh start for them both, a place to flourish. Alec ruined their lives in the Milky Way, the Alliance washing their hands of the Ryder family, but Andromeda, the Initiative, everything would be different. They could be different, their own people. 

Kori listened to Krys rant and rave about discovering the truth, about the broken promises. _ I’m sorry you can’t understand that I did what I had to. _

_ You sound like Alec. _

_ I think I understand him a bit better now. Why he treated us the way he did.  _

_ I’m not living like that again. I won’t be here when you return. _

_ Wait, Krys- _

_ No, I’m done waiting. I’ve spent my entire life waiting -- for Mom to get better, for Alec to magically become a better father, for you to … I’m done. Congratulations. You’ve finally succeeded in taking everything from me. _

_ Krys, please- _

_ SAM, end the call.  _

The dampener on her omni-tool gets removed a few days later, and SAM’s in her ear before she even places her tools down on the desk. “Ryder?”

“I’m here, SAM.” Her voice fills with exhaustion and for the first time since she’s woken from her coma, fat tears begin to stream down her face. 


	6. -One-

By the time the party for saving Andromeda kicks off, Krys is ready to disappear into the safety of her and Kori’s shared room. She sinks onto the closest bench she finds and closes her eyes, tilting her head back until it hits the cool metal of the wall. Her implant smarts something awful from the Archon’s tampering, like a painful and annoying itch just below the surface of her skin -- requests to have it removed only get denied. The second-coma fatigue refuses to shake, and the simple act of hobbling outside the apartment and into the main hall steals the breath from her lungs, so she sits and spends the party passing greetings from her spot. 

Only a short time passes before someone takes the open seat beside her, leaning against the wall and crossing their arms over their chest while refusing to spare a glance. She doesn’t need to see who it is, her sister complained about the broody outlier picking fights across Meridian. “Chickadee,” comes the sweet tenor of his voice, sorely missed in the months apart. 

“What gave it away?” In profile, he’s the very picture of annoyed, his lips sutured shut with a hard-lined scowl, brow pinched together as he glares at a fixed spot ahead -- whether it’s the party or herself that contributes to his bad mood, she struggles to determine. “The bags under my eyes? The cane beside me? Or how my sister’s flitting around the room like the social butterfly she is while I’m … here.” 

His cheeks darken in this terrible lighting, ever so subtle, and he tilts his head a little further away than before. “You … It's how you carry yourself. Proud. Steel unwilling to bend.”

Flames bloom deep, and she spares more than a passing glimpse this time -- the urge of running her fingers along his arm, his knee, over his cheek and behind his ear to the nape of his neck, massaging until he turns into putty -- it’s too strong to fully resist, and she opens her legs a little wider so that her thigh rests against his. In this and every way, she bends; not steel as he pictures her but aluminum that folds, dents scratched with permanence. 

She bends to rub at her aching leg, worse now after her kidnapping -- the doctors suggested permanent damage, the cane a constant companion for the foreseeable future. The price of her stubbornness -- those in charge talk of gardening or minor repairs for her contribution to this new galaxy, nothing too strenuous or exciting. When returning upright, she mirrors his position, arms folded across her chest, her back flush with the wall. 

The thrum of music travels through the wall and down her spine; a loud chortle snaps her regard to the side where a group of people crowd around each other, swapping stories of their survival. When her attention returns to Bain, those dark eyes of his search her face for an answer to a question he doesn’t voice. 

“You know,” she starts, her tone low enough not to be overheard, “this will go a lot fucking faster if you simply ask me.” Cut through the bullshit the way he always forced her to do, rather than dance around each other all night. 

“Oh?” He quirks an eyebrow, a subtle smugness creeping under his stoic demeanor. “What is it I’m supposedly asking you?” 

She shakes her head. “I’m not giving away answers for free, that’s not how this works.” This time, when the urge to touch him arises, she gives in, slanting her body into his until one of his arms breaks the lock across his chest and wraps around her shoulders. When her head comes to rest on his shoulder, his cheek settles against her crown -- familiarity in the gesture that reminds her of long nights aboard Ol’ Girl, the two of them wrapped in the blanket from the bed while stars streamed past the cockpit window. 

“You left.” He feigns nonchalance, stating fact and nothing more.

“Yeah, well, it seemed like a good idea at the time.” When her sister walks by with more than a passing interest, Krys breaks her comfort and struggles to her feet. The cane supports most of her weight, and she uses her free hand to point toward the side hall that leads to the Pathfinder quarters. “Let’s get out of here. I hate crowds.”

Bain trails behind her at a close distance, and when the doors to the room swish closed, she snakes a hand around his neck and half-rises for all-too-greedy a kiss, open-mouthed and ravenous for the taste of him, which only stands to confuse him when it breaks as sudden as it begins. Her leg burns something awful from the exertion, and even though she should regret it, she doesn’t. She limps over to the nightstand where her muscle relaxers reside and takes a couple of pills after perching on the edge of the bed. 

Bain remains standing, concern alight in his gaze. She ends up patting the spot beside her in order for him to sit, and then she confesses, “There won’t be any recovery this time, if you were wondering. The best I can do is manage the pain.” 

It’s written all over his face, what he believes this means for them, and when he leans over for that goodbye kiss, she taps a finger to his lips to hold him off. “You haven’t asked yet.” 

“Doesn’t seem like there’s much point.” 

With a roll of her eyes, her hand falls to her lap. “Just say it -- what you want. You’re making this so fucking difficult.” 

“It doesn’t-”

“It matters to me. I want to go with you, but you need to fucking say it first.” 

SAM cuts in while Bain fumes. “Ryder, if I may make a suggestion.” 

“Stay out of this, SAM.” Kori warned her about how the AI liked to butt in, and with this specific issue she had no interest in some third party commentary. 

Bain finally finishes chewing over his words enough to spit out, “Come back.”

The grin that spawns on her face strains the unused muscles in her cheeks, it’s so wide. “A _please_ wouldn't hurt, but … okay.” 

“It’s not that simple-”

“It is. We go back to Ol’ Girl, and we make it work. And it will, because it's just a leg, and I like you well enough to not let that stop me.” Krys takes his hand and brushes her lips against his knuckles. She considers throwing in a _Save me from the monotony of ordinary life_ , but figures it won’t go over well. "I'll manage. I always do."

" _We_ will manage." His lips end up pressing against hers like the signature on a contract. When arms wind around her, firm and tight, the scent of him welcomes her home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then Krys passes out for 12 hours cause muscle relaxers are no joke and Kori catches them in bed together and her and Bain talk while Krys sleeps. The end.

**Author's Note:**

> The nice part about writing a minor character is it's hard to get them wrong. The horrible part of falling in love with a minor character is lack of content and your very specific headcanons for how said character behaves. 
> 
> This was an absolute pleasure to write. I knew I wanted to push myself and try a Five Times fic (I've only done one before), but figuring out what subject to do five times brought me back to an old story idea that got scrapped. 
> 
> Make no mistake, I absolutely wrote this for Sumi. I included as many of their requests/prompts as the story allowed. But this story is also undeniably *me*. 
> 
> I created this set of Ryder twins for the story, but I fell in love with Krys so much that I might continue on past this, write more of her and Bain, maybe even do some stories of Kori. There's gaps I could fill in, there's the future, there's a lot of ground I could still cover if I decide to turn this into a series. Will I is another question entirely, especially with so much already on my plate. 
> 
> But I love this, and I hope you love this too, whether you're Sumi or a random reader or someone else who appreciates Bain. Thank you for any comments. They're the highlight of my email inbox. <3
> 
> (Also if you want to see something more and specific, I do take prompts so feel free to drop me some.)


End file.
